Too Much Rain
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: House has been behaving strangely, even for himself. Wilson is worried, especially since it’s probably all his fault. Slash, and a few other things. Companion piece and sequal to Casablanca. Rated M just in case.
1. it aint me

I started off calling this a companion piece to Casablanca but it's really a sequel. Same warnings apply as before. I suppose you could just read this one and not the other, but I would go for them both. Please review.

"You say you're looking for someone who's never weak and always strong; to protect you and defend you, weather you are right or wrong. Someone to open each and every door, but it aint me Babe. No, no, no it aint me Babe. It aint me you're looking for Babe," Bob Dylan.

Greg has been acting strange lately, and by strange I—well it's hard to explain. He's not himself; or rather he's more of himself than ever. He's been quieter in private, sadder and there have definitely been more bad pain days. But when we're at work, House is being . . .he's meaner to those little ducklings of his, more abusive than necessary. I heard Foreman grumbling about it Chase in the hallway. I won't repeat what his exact words were but to suffice it say he thinks it's all because of Stacy leaving. I won't lie; some of this can be blamed on her departure

That's just not the whole story. House is grumpy because she's gone, and this time its for good but the real reason that House is behaving strangely is that I told him that I am in love with him. Only that wasn't the end of that either. Normally when you get to the stage of a relationship where you tell somebody that you love them they either say it back or they don't and that makes the relationship change. But House isn't normal. He's about as far from normal as humanly possible.

So, naturally, nothing in his life or our relationship is close to normal. He didn't say it back. I didn't expect him to. I don't know if he's even capable, of loving anyone or me. He and I didn't end it either, though. We had this long drawn out painful excruciating discussion on it and he admitted to me how absolutely fucking terrified he is of love of me of us and now he's sulking, and angry and he's taking it out on everyone, including himself.

He's getting worse. Today he yelled at a patient. I'll be the first to admit that he has done that before, but he usually has a good reason. This one—I don't know what happened, all I know is that it must have been bad because the whole hospital is talking about it. I've been trying to keep an eye on him since that night but he knows it so he's been trying everything he can to get away from me. Needless to say I wasn't there when he did whatever it was that he did to this patient. All I know for sure is that he is in Cuddy's office and I have never seen her this mad at him.

She's got the door closed but I can see her yelling and House not listening. I don't have to be able to read lips to know that's threatening to suspend him. Cuddy would have to be out of her mind to fire him; he's too good of a doctor. But she can kick him out of her for a few weeks without pay.

He'd been fine his savings would cover rent and food but the pills and the take out and the booze would start to add up. He drinks too much takes too many pills and it scares me. Greg says he knows what he's doing but that's the biggest drug addict lie in the world. One of them anyway. _I'm not taking too many, or too much. I've got it under control. I can stop any time I want. _

We've done those dances so many times I don't even bother anymore. One of these days he'll take too many damn pills and I wont be there and. I try not to think about that. It's the only thing worse than this. The possibility of losing him… It's too much. He hobbles out of Cuddy's off, shoots me a pathetic look and head back to his room. I'm about to follow with the promise of something that will take his mind off of everything when Cuddy comes out of her office.

"We need to talk," she informs me. If I were brave I'd make a House-like comment about her half open shirt, but like a scolded toddler I follow her and accept whatever punishment she's a bout to dole out. Cuddy motions for me to sit down but I get the feeling that this isn't going to last that long. She stays standing as well. Her face is flushed with color and she's even more pissed off than usual. "What the hell is going on here?" she asks, screams actually.

"I wish I knew what you were talking about." I say trying to play it cool. I', not sure if Cuddy knows about us or if she has any idea even. IF she doesn't then he doesn't want me to tell her.

"You're the closet thing he has to a friend; what is happening with him? Does this have something to do with Stacy?" There's a moment where she seems genuinely concerned for him but I know its nothing like that. She wants to weigh the potential damages so she can decide what to do about House.

"Yes. No I can't really tell you. Not specifically. He's going through some stuff, I'll keep an eye on him." Cuddy shakes her head. I should have known. Nothing is that easy. Not that anything I've been through lately has been easy. "You can't fire him. Tell me you aren't thinking about firing him."

"No, Of course not, but he cant be here. He can't treat patents like this. I gave him a month of paid vacation to figure things out." Shit. If he's going to self-destruct and... do stuff a month off is exactly when he'll do it.

"You can't tell anyone that I told you this and he can't know that you know. If he has to take a month off I have to do the same. We're—he's—I," My voice trails off but I can tell from the look on her face that Cuddy figured it out.

"Oh. Ohh! Is that what this is about? Right, sorry. I know you can't talk about it. If you two can… The soon her he comes back the better. But."

"I get it. He can't come back until he's actually ready. I think it would be good for him to take some time off anyway."


	2. Pizza and Fairy Tales

"Laugh, when your eyes are burning  
Smile, when your heart is filled with pain

Sigh, as you brush away your sorrow  
Make a vow, that's it's not going to happen again," Paul McCartney

Same warnings as before

House is in his office pouring himself a cup of coffee when I get out of my meeting with Cuddy. Cuddy wants him to leave now before his shift is over and I'd have thought he'd be doing cartwheels by now. But this is House after all so he is never going to do what I think he's going to do.

"Don't drink that stuff, it'll eat the lining out of your stomach. Come on, I'll buy you a ridiculously expensive cup of something fancy." He doesn't even look at me. He puts the mug down, then picks it up and takes a painful swig. After he puts the cup down again.

"What am I supposed to do with a month off?" he asks. It's surprising to say the least. I never would have thought he'd ask about that.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," I say walking over and putting my hand on the table. This any physical contact is his decision and I don't force it on him. He takes my hand and grunts.

"How did you get Cuddy to give you time off? You told her, didn't you?" He drops my hand. "Damnit!"

"Let's talk about this somewhere else?" I beg. He picks up the cane and a bottle of pills that he has stashed in a drawer.

"You owe me a ridiculously expensive cup of coffee first," he chuckles as we leave the building. House and i go to one of those drive through places and he orders the biggest, most upgraded, expensive drinks on the menu and the poor girl taking the order damn near cries by the time he is finished reaming her out. But I don't care. I haven't got time to care about anyone other than us. When we get to his apartment I offer to help him up but he slaps my hand away.

"For what it's worth, I didn't mean into. I tried to tell her I needed the time off but she wasn't listening. I--," he cuts me off.

"It doesn't matter. People were bound to find out eventually. It's going to majorly screw things up between you and your wife though."

"Things were screwed up long before this. Maybe even from the beginning."

"So, what are we going to do now?" House asks making himself comfortable on the sofa and I think he knows I want to talk. We haven't had a real conversation since the day after I told House that I love him. We've barely even spoken, to tell the truth, but that was his decision not mine. I must have tried at least a hundred times.

"It's going to be alright. I'm here. I love you. I'm not leaving," I say but he either limps away or tells me to cut the mushy crap. Now it's just us' we're sitting here on the couch and he's reaching for the remote control. I take it from him and fling it across the room.

"What the fuck do you want from me," he shouts looking at the shattered pieces of plastic and batteries.

"I want you talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you or what's going on. I want to have a conversation. I want to hold you. Or beat the crap out you. I'm to sure which one is more appropriate."

"No fair beating up the cripple," he complains waving his cane at me threateningly. I', probably the only person in the universe he wouldn't hit with that thing. He gives me another serious looking over. "What do you mean, _hold_ me?" he asks and I'm not sure if he's taunting me or if he's seriously considering it.

"I don't know. And I know you have a great comeback but just listen for once okay?" When he doesn't snap at me I continue. "I just want—I think we. I can't go on like this and neither can you. Please. There has to be something we can do" I'm looking him straight in the eyes when I say the last part. He doesn't look away which is something, but I know whatever happens next its not going to be what I want. After the most intense non-sexual five minutes of my life House breaks from the gaze. He reaches for the phone.

"I'm ordering a pizza. Pepperoni and onions okay with you?" he asks me seriously as if this were the most important thing in the world.

"Yeah," I say with a sigh. An hour later the pizza has arrived and we've pretty much finished it off, along with a couple of beers apiece. House leans back and lets out a loud belch.

"I'm sorry." He says and there's a moment where I think he means it, which is the most confusing part. Then he adds, "I can do better," and he does.

"That was disgusting. Thank you. We need to talk. We have to figure this out. You can't avoid this conversation forever."

"Actually I think I can, or if I cant I can t least break the world record for conversation avoidance. How long do you suppose that is anyway?" I know he's doing this on purpose, baiting me so I'll get distracted. I know that, so why does it work?

"I don't know, and I don't care. Now cut that out and talk to me," I shout. House leans back and sort so sighs. Then he gets really quiet and stares at me for a while. He puts one his hands on mine. I squeeze it softly and pull it to my lips. Greg pulls his hand away before I can kiss him. I try to lean in for a real kiss.

"What do you want from me?" he asks at last. It's no the first time but when I think it over I never really answered it for him. So here are ware at the biggest, scariest cross roads of my and probably his life. Greg stands up slowly and hobbles to the bedroom door and then stands there as if to suggest that I'm meant to follow.

"I'll go wherever you want but we're having this conversation, _NOW_." House shakes his head.

"Sex first, then my pills, then I'll be ready to talk. I want to scream at him or hit him or worse. I want to tell him no, only to get this conversation out of the way, but I want the sex more, at least part of me does. In the end my most basic desires always win out and I go back to the bedroom.


	3. hunger

"Oh, this is where I give you advice and pretend you are going listen to it, I love this part." Dr. James Wilson.

It's been two days since Cuddy forced House to take a vacation. Since then he pretty much hasn't done anything other than eat, sleep, drink, play Gameboy, and catch up on his soap. He could have done this in the hospital but he's even more snarky than usual and I don't want to think about how he would interact with patients. I've tried to talk to him more times than I can count at this point, but he can't be bothered. I feel like a horse on a carousel going around and around over and over. I'm in the kitchen scrambling eggs for breakfast, when he limps in and sits at the table. House just sits there for a moment rubbing his thigh; then he looks up at me sadly.

"Can you get me a cup of coffee while you're up?" He asks. I knew he'd want it so I have everything ready and I just have to mix in the milk and sugar. I set it down on the table next to a plate of eggs and some bacon. He wolfs it down in about five minutes. Greg doesn't say anything but I know he is grateful for the food. He doesn't always say what he feels, but I', learning to read him. It's taken me years to get to where I am now, and I still suck at it.

"I love you," I say at least praying that I'll get some sort of response. He doesn't say anything for the longest time. Finally he opens his mouth and smiles. "What? What is that look for?"

"It's just that you keep saying that as if you think I'm going to react to it. It's not that you don't know how I feel about things. I know how you feel. You've said it enough times. So why keep saying it?"

"Because I really think it would be good for you to keep hearing it. I think it would help. GO ahead. Call me an idiot, but that's how I feel?"

"What exactly do you think you're going to accomplish here James? I don't need you to fix me. I'm not your patent." It would have been nice if just once he would listen to me, because if he did we wouldn't have to keep on having this argument. More time passes and we don't say anything. The only reason that I start to wash the dishes, is that the silence is deafening and I know that he'll never do them. House watches me but doesn't offer to help. When I finish I still don't know how to respond. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am trying to change him, but is that really so bad? I want Greg to be happy. I don't know if that's even possible. I wouldn't even mid it so much if he would just go back to the old House. As soon as I finish with the dishes he makes his way to the living room to watch General Hospital, dry swallowing a pill or two along the way. I watch him carefully trying to decide if I ought to follow him or not. I open the refrigerator to check the supplies.

"We're low on milk," I cal to him knowing he's not listening. I make a note to go to the supermarket later, knowing he'll never go. Once, a couple of years ago I spent the night only do discover (at 6:00 am) that the only remotely edible thing in the apartment was a jug of orange juice, three weeks past the expiration date. I was pretty sure he hadn't even known about it.

/I wake up early. It wasn't always that way, but now I do. Three months after we got married, Julie decided that 5:00 AM would make a good workout time, seeing how well it fit into her schedule of not having time to stop and take a breath during the day. That lasted a little less that three months but I'm sensitive, and ever since then no mater when I got to sleep I still wake up around five. Greg on the other hand likes to sleep in. That is, whenever he can.

He sleeps in because of the pills, although some days they work less well than others. Today he's still curled slightly on his side breathing shallowly with his eyes fluttering in his sleep, which means that he's dreaming. I pray that he it isn't a dream about _her. _ Whenever Greg dreams about Stacy he's always grumpy the next morning.

Usually when I stay the night at Greg's I try and stay in bed until he gets up, some days I do better than others. Today it's close to 6:00 when I finally have to get out of bed. It has nothing to do with my needing to get up and move around because I've been awake and laying in bed for an hour. Okay it has a little to do with that, but mostly I'm starving.

Greg doesn't keep much food in his place. No fruit, or vegetables. Sometimes there's a little bit of meat, and milk, but mostly its junk food. Left over takes out, popcorn, snack cakes, pop tarts, soda, beer and stronger booze are the things one would find if they searched House's kitchen. That's when he's been to the store, that is. I'm sure he knows better; he just doesn't care. When he was living with stay I know things were better because they invited over for dinner a few times and there was always plenty of food, good stuff too.

I search his cupboards and pantry first, being careful to close the doors silently. No poptarts, no Twinkies, no Ho Hos, not even a box of crackers or a bag of potato chips. There's a tin can filled with tomato paste but no noodles or anything to serve it with. Not that tomato paste is anything like tomato sauce, but at least that it would have been something. The next place I check is the fridge, which naturally is empty. Well no, that's not completely true. There's a jug of orange juice in there with an expiration date from there weeks ago.

I guess I wasn't as quiet as I thought. When I close the fridge, House is standing there, leaning on his cane and watching me.

"You do know, that there is absolutely no food in this place whatsoever, don't you?" He jus shrugs. It's only been a few months since she left but I can tell he's still getting used to everything.

"I've been meaning to the store for a while but I keep forgetting. It's been that way for a week or two." He says with a snicker. Then he pops the top off a prescription bottle and takes out a pill.

"How many of those have you been taking?" I ask. I think this might be the beginning of a problem.

"Don't worry," he says trying to reassure me and not doing a very god job. "I've got it under control. /

I close the refrigerator and head towards the door.

"I'm going out for groceries. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."


	4. distractions

"I love you," Princess Leia to Han Solo _The Empire Strikes Back._

"I know," Han's response.

Author's note: In the following chapter's Wilson is mad at House and so he stops thinking of him as his friend, Greg, and turns to the more abstract further away personality of House. ;-) I'm not fickle it was a conscious choice.

The whole time I'm at the market I can't stop thinking about how I told House not to do anything stupid while I was gone. That was not good. It's roughly equivalent to telling a five-year-old not to eat any of the cookies off of the huge plate you've just set down in front of him, and then walking out of the room. When I'm picking up eggs, milk and the half dozen other things we're going to need for dinner, all of the horrible and stupid things House could be doing are floating around in the back of my mind. No, that's not accurate. They aren't floating, and they definitely aren't in the back of my mind. No, it's all I can do to keep myself from dropping the carton of milk, abandoning my cart and racing back to 221 Baker Street.

My head is filled with images. House and some fucking stupid plan of his to get back at me by calling up a . . . House going to the hospital and doing something to get himself fired. House driving manically. House in a crash. House taking too many pills. That's the one that won't leave me alone. Lots of people try to do it with pills but they don't take enough and just sleep for 18 hours straight or they take too many and puke them up, voiding the whole thing. But House.

He's smart, sometimes. He knows what he's doing. He'd take the exact right amount. It wouldn't even be the first time. He's tried it once before. I found him, emptied his stomach, and stayed with him every night for a week, but he never said a word about it. He never even mentioned it. For the longest time I thought he resented me for stopping him. I don't know if that has changed.

What I do know is that he's back to where he was the last time she left and that scares me. I manage to get the shopping done even with all of these things, these distractions, running through my mind. In the car on the way home, I drive to fast, run red lights and stop signs. I even consider double parking or using the fire lane, but in the end settle for a space just short of a block from House's door. I walk halfway back before realizing that the groceries are in the trunk.

I stand there two, maybe five minutes thinking it over. Do I go back? Or do I let the groceries sit in there rotting and rush in side to check on House. The only thing that keeps me from running inside like a mad man is the possibility of doing that and discovering that he's fine. . . I'll look like an idiot or worse. So I take the risk, and trudge back to the car knowing how equally dangerous it is to leave him alone any longer, and bring the groceries inside.

When I open the door my arms weighed down with over flowing brown paper bags, House is just sitting there watching TV. He's stoned, having taken a few too many pills (which is stupid) but he's fairly safe. I look at him. He looks at me.

"So are you going to give me a hand or what?" I ask, finally. I feel like my arms are about to fall off. House just sort of laughs and shakes his head.

"No. I'm pretty comfortable right here and if that weren't next to impossible, I might consider it, but seeing how rare this is, I think I'll stay." Once I'm in the kitchen I see a half empty bottle of whiskey that I know was full or close to it this morning. Again, stupid, but at least it's not suicidal. Thank God for small favors, I think, realizing that this is nothing to be thankful for.

I take the bottle and move it to a shelf he wouldn't be able to reach even on his best day. I do the same thing with all the booze in this place. I could hide his pills but it wouldn't do any good. He'd just be cranky and uncomfortable and as time ticked away he'd get worse. I can keep him from doing too much damage though. House is all but passed out by the time I finish putting away our supplies.

I sit next to him on the couch and put my arm over his shoulder. Like I said before it's a fairly good day so he lets me do this. House even drops his head onto my chest and closes his eyes. His breathing is shallow and irregular, but it's there and I know that with all the junk in his system it's amazing he's alive at all.

"You're a real jackass," I tell him with a gentle kiss on the head. House nods. It's about 2:00 in the afternoon and he's watching some movie on Cable. Without paying the least bit of attention I know it's one of the _Star Wars_ movies. It's one of the old ones, one of the good ones. I watch as his chest rises and falls fairly sure he's asleep.

Even so, I still whisper to him softly "I love you,' I say with amazing timing. Princess Leia is telling Han Solo the same thing on the TV screen. Before I even realize what's going on his mouth opens in sync with the movie.

"I know," he says at the same moment that Han says it to her. It's strange the way that our lives seem to wonder around so many movies and TV shows. I wonder, briefly, if he's planned this, but realize that he had no way of knowing when I would get home or what I would do once I was here. I watch as his eyelids flutter and open momentarily, and then drop as if there were heavy weights attached to his eyelashes.

I kiss House one ore time and then he's asleep. The shallow breathing becomes more regular and I feel a slight warm wetness on my chest bellow his head. At first I think it's a fever but when I look down I see that the water is coming from his eyes. House is crying.


	5. The Waiting

"I don't wanna wait in vain for your love.  
From the very first time I rest my eyes on you, girl,  
my heart says follow t'rough," Bob Marley

While House sleeps I move his body carefully—little by little, so that by the end he's laying down. This way he wont put any extra pressure on his leg, and his neck wont get stiff from being bent strangely. I watch him sleep for a couple hours and then I start to get a little. . . Uncomfortable. I've got to take a leak but I know I shouldn't wake him. So I wait. Finally he stirs awake and looks up at me confused.

"How long was I out for," he asks, licking his lips and blinking a few times.

"Just a couple of hours. I um—I need you to move. I gotta get up for a minute." He nods and shifts himself into a sitting position. After I get back House looks me over and then sighs.

"I'm hungry." He says. I nod but I don't make a move. I think I may have finally found a way to make him talk. "Well, get to it Betty Crocker."

"First we talk, then you can eat. This can't wait any longer." House glares at me. I watch him carefully. House knows he's trapped.

"Alright. Fine. I'll talk to you. You don't have to starve me you know. Hey where are you going? I thought you wanted to talk." I grab a box of cookies from the kitchen and toss them on the couch. I only hope that he doesn't shut up just because I gave him a snack.

"You better behave yourself or I'll deprive you of something that will make you a lot less comfortable than going without food. And I'm not talking about sex."

"You're no fun," he announces and upon realizing that I don't give a damn how much fun he thinks I am, gives out a loud sigh. "What do you want me to say?" he asks.

"I want the truth, from you, about everything. I want—I want you to tell me the truth." I'm babbling, and repeating myself. That's not good. He won't listen if he thinks I sound like an idiot.

"You want the truth? That's asking quiet a bit, don't you think?" I shrug. I don't think it really is asking too much, but this is House so naturally everything is blown out of proportion. "I told you that I don't know how I feel about things and I don't think rehashing that is going to change anything. I'm—this is different. Even with—even the other times I've been with someone I don't think I've ever been in love. Not with anyone," he says looking away. House moves as if to stand up, but changes his mind. "There are you happy? I said it. I never loved her. Isn't that what you wanted to hear?"

"No. I want you to be happy, or close to it. I want things to work between us and I want you to know that you're too good for her." It's one of the most difficult things I've ever had to say in my life and I get the feeling that this conversation is only going to get harder and more painful. It almost makes me want Vicodin of my own. House looks at least as bad as I feel. He shakes his head.

"That last part isn't true. I know you think that and I know you hate her but you're wrong. I feel different about her than I ever did with anyone. I'm not sure what that is. If this is love then I never want to feel this away not for a fraction of a section. But I don't suppose it maters what I want because I've been feeling this way for a long time now." I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say anything yet, but I take the chance, knowing he's heading into a bad direction.

"Well what—how do you feel? What I mean, is how are you feeling . . .I . . . If you never," my voice trails off but he seems to get the point.

"I'm not sure. I know how stupid that sounds but I don't know how to describe what I'm feeling. I don't know if I could even if my life depended on it. It's terrifying though, I'll give you that much." Considering the source this is a lot. It's more than I ever could have hoped for.

"Can I take a guess and say that you aren't scared so much by what you feel, but because you think that those feelings are going to change things?"

"Oh quit trying to be reasonable. You don't know everything. You don't know anything. You're a miserable old bastard, just like me," he shouts. I keep pushing because I know that if we just get everything into the open we might be okay. If we can figure this out then everything else just might in turn work itself out. So I force myself to go on.

"I also think that you're lying. You do love her, which makes it all the more painful because you two can't be together and because she doesn't love you back. I think you're afraid to admit that you love me and that you think that if you don't admit how you feel that it won't hurt as much when things don't work out. But I'll let you in on a little secret. I wont let that happen. No matter what I'm not leaving. You can't get rid of me. It's all right. You can tell me." Time goes by. House stares at me briefs and then sighs. He stands up and limps into the kitchen where he begins to rummage around in the cabinets.

"Where in the hell did you put my beer?" he asks slamming the door of something. Another cabinet opens. "Shit!" He's found what he was looking for. "That's not fair. Come on I need a drink and I think you do to. We deserve one."

"If I get them out are you going to keep on talking or will you just—you know? Don't look at me like that. You had half a bottle of Jack Daniel's this morning you don't need anymore. All right fine. One beer." I take them out and lay them on the table. House pops the cap off and takes a long swig. I sit there as the sun sets and the room gets dark, wondering how long before he says anything at all, and of course what he is going to say when the time comes.


	6. Happy Ending?

"These arms remain stretched out to you  
Maybe someday you'll accept them," The Ataris

After the first beer house seems even more angry and upset. He won't say anything. I think that is what bothers me the most. At least when he starts to argue with me I know that he's there. At least he's listening then. But when things get really bad, when he gets depressed and pissed off he just shuts off and shuts everyone (me) out. Sometimes I can help him, I can fix it. Sometimes. . .but even then it's hard. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed. No. I was right. Just because he wants to ignore the world and hope that his problems will just go away, doesn't mean that's going to happen. The world doesn't go away just because you ignore it.

"Get me another one," House says at last, slamming the empty bottle against the table. I know that I have to be careful, can't be too hard on him, but I can't go too easy either. I put my hand on his and don't move it, even though he tries to fight me.

"I think you've had enough. I know it's a cliché, so shut up. You drink to much." He looks at me strangely. I wish I knew what to tell him. I wish I knew how to fix everything. I wish this were easy. There are times, a lot of them in fact, when I wish that I didn't love him, didn't care. This would be so much easier then. I could just leave, walk out, and never speak to him again if that were possible. I cant do that. No mater how much I want to leave, no mater how much I want to hate him, I can't. I love him. I've always loved him. So I stay, and I watch as House self-destructs, over and over, even though it hurts.

"Go to Hell. I'll get it for myself. Where's the stool? Do I have a stool?" House looks around the room. "You really want to have this conversation, don't you?" He grunts. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. _Don't walk away, please_. I need him to be okay.

"No. Of course not. I don't want to do anything that makes either of us uncomfortable. I want everything to be okay, but it's not. We're not. And we need—I want to fix this."

"You want to fix this? No, what you mean to say is that you want to fix me? Isn't that it? I'm fucked up—I know—but I don't need you to fix me," House Grumbles. He looks like he might hit me. I feel like I want to hit him.

"No. I don't care about the pills or how much of a jackass you are, but. . .this isn't easy. All I want to do is—I love you. I want you to be happy." He gives me another of those looks and makes that face of his. He shrugs a little, uncomfortably, and looks away. I want to take his face in my hand and force him to make eye contact. I know I could make this all stop if I really wanted to. I could just him to look at me then I'd know, I could see how he's feeling and he wouldn't have to say a thing. I just can't do it though. H e needs to say it. He needs a lot more, but for now this is all I can do. Maybe he's' right. Is that so bad? Shouldn't people change, and grow? I love him. I want everything to be all right. I want him to be all right. I want—I'm not sure _what_ I want.

"This is pretty messed up, isn't it? The two of us. We're pretty pathetic, huh?" he says with a little smirk. I know that by us he means me.

"I know you are but what am I?" I pray that this is going to work. I need to see him smile, hear him laugh. And he does, just a little, but it's a start.

"Trust me. You are one sorry specimen. Even if I am pathetic, what does that say abut you if _you_ love _me?" _ That's enough to get us both laughing.

"I'm sorry about before. I thought that if we got everything out in the open it—it might help."

"If you promise never to do anything stupid like that again, I promise to forgive you," he snickers.

"No. It wasn't stupid. Look I just—I'm sorry that you're screwed up but . . . forget it. I want o—I want us to be happy."

"You said that. Happiness is overrated. If people think you're happy then they wanna talk to you all the time, want to be with you." He sighs **again**He keeps looking at me. "Oh for crying out loud! House stands up and starts to hobble away.

"I just—I love you and. .I just wanted us to be happy. It's not overrated. Really. I know you think that I'm an idiot, just listen okay I just—this is-I don't know what to tell you. I'm, sorry." I can hear him in the other room, that's how quiet it gets after I stop talking. House takes more pills. I wish he would just talk to me. He walks back in after a few more minutes passed.

"Okay. Here goes everything. Before, what you said. You weren't wrong, not completely anyway." I can't believe that this is happening. I must be dreaming. That's the only way that this makes sense. I am dreaming. House glares at me. "Isn't that what you wanted.

"Yeah, it's just so—unexpected. I think I must be dreaming." He reaches out and pinches y arm, hard. "Hey!" Well at least I know it's real. "Jack ass."

"Say it again James," Greg orders, looking right at me. "Just say it one more time, alright?"

"I love you," I tell him again. I think I've said it a hundred times today but I don't mean it any less. I don't think I'll ever stop feeling this way and I want to tell him as often as I can.

"I," he says with that quiet, tired voice. "I—l—la—I love. Damnit this is harder than I thought. I love you. There. I said it. Happy now?"

"No, not completely. Not one hundred percent, but I think it's all right. I love you too. I think we're going to be okay."

"Alright, shut up already. I'm going back to the bedroom. You coming?" I sit there a minute to make him think that I'm considering my options. Then I get up.

"Yeah," I say with a smile. "Race Ya." House looks at me with a little wicked smile. I run forward and fall flat on my face, on the linoleum floor. He tripped me. I can't believe it! He limps off and is half way there before I even get up. I follow him to the bedroom and smile as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

"I love you," he says again watching me carefully. "I'm sorry if you got hurt, but you absolutely deserved that back there."

"Maybe, I did." I really think we've turned a corner here. I think everything is going to be fine. I think we are going to be fine. I think Greg is going to be fine. "And I love you too."


	7. White Noise

"I hope you know that you are better than they say you are  
I have to say that you are stronger than you know  
I have to say that you are smart enough to handle any stunt that anyone could  
pull   
I just want to be there when you need to find your feet on the solid ground   
I just want to catch you when you fall down," Everclear

WARNING CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR HOUSE VS GOD

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"Are we all right?" House asks before climbing onto his bike and riding off into the night. That's not good. He never asks about stuff like that. House just doesn't care. The only time he wants everything to be even is when he's planning something. I watch the exhaust as it floats up into the air and evaporates. I've only got one real choice here; I have to follow him.

There's no reason to knock I'm pretty sure he knows I'm only a mile or two behind him. They key slips easily into the lock as I push my way into his apartment. House calls from the kitchen, "I knew I should have taken your key back. Well as long as you're here you might as well make dinner." House makes his way back to the living room with his beer and turns on the TV. I watch as he highlights Casablanca _again_.

"How many times can you watch that fucking movie and mope around about whether or not she made the right choice." Naturally House can't do what I expect of him. House deletes the program from his Tivo.

"If you had the slightest idea what you were talking about, ever, I might actually listen to you once in a while," he says. "Now get in the kitchen before I throw something at you." I look in the fridge. It's empty.

"What am I supposed to cook, there's no food in this place. I've only been gone a week. There's no way you used all my food." He doesn't say anything. This still reminds me of the last time. "Pizza okay?"

"Fine," he says selecting a program. I sit down next to him on the couch, "I still can't believe you slept with your patient and then you complain about _my_ ethics."

"Can we not talk about this, please?" We sit there, just watching TV and eating pizza until late into the night. Around 1:00 I notice that his head is lolled to the side and House is asleep. I wish I could make him happy. I wish I knew what he needed. I can't help but think about all the times I've seen him try and hurt himself. I have to protect him or—something. Suddenly sitting there I feel as if House and I have been apart for all eternity and I absolutely need to reach out and touch him. My fingers trace the edges of his face, the soft bristles of his beard, touching him over, and over. Houses eyes roll open and he stares at me.

"What are you doing?" he asks sleepily. I'm not sure how to respond. "I'm going to bed. You coming?" I follow him back to the bedroom and wonder how long it's going to be before something terrible happens. I wonder if I can help, make it all better somehow. As we shed our clothes and climb under the covers I reach out and take Greg by the hand.

"I love you," I manage to tell him at last. He smiles faintly, taking my hand in his.

"Me too," he says and then he's asleep again. _Please_, I pray into the darkness,_ please just let him be all right. _


	8. Mad World

WARNING! Contains spoilers for No Reason! Also, this final chapter takes place after House's surgery. He's not "all better" in this fic, but he's not dead either. Also I'm not sure if I already mentioned this but I had House try and commit suicide once—not in an actual fic but there are references to it in this story and Casablanca and Wilson has been worried about it happening again for a long time.

"I find it kind of funny. I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had," Tears For Fears

I can't believe it when I first hear the news. It's a joke, a horrible, terrible, sick joke but it just can't be true. I storm into House's office to yell at him to say that this isn't funny. Only. . .he's not there. I'm really mad now. He must be testing me or something. This is not funny. I rush all over the hospital to find him. It can't be. House could not have been shot. But I don't find him in any of his usual hiding places. Finally I give up and go to find Cuddy or the Ducklings or somebody who knows where he is being kept. House is actually . . .I can't.

I reach up to pull open the door to his room. Alarms go off and I can practically hear his heart rate go up.

"It's me," I explain walking inside, still praying that this is a joke and I want to yell at him. "I swear to if you hadn't of just been. I—I'd—how could—I—you . . ." That's pretty much when I lose it completely. I sit down in a chair next to his bed and start sobbing. House reaches out with a weak hand.

"Oh shut up would you?" He moans, smacking my hand. "I got _shot_ and I didn't even make that big of a fuss about the whole thing." I try not to cry but I cant stop myself. I put my hand on his face, touch his hair, touch his cheeks, everything. I even put my finger on the little bandage over his neck. House winces.

"I'm sorry about before. I was just . . .I thought this was a joke that you were making a joke. Are you alright?" House shrugs. " Cameron's out there. She'd be in here except . . .she knows I'd want to see you first. Other than that I don't think anyone in this hospital is going to come within fifty feet of your room." House smiles.

"Maybe I should get shot more often. Certainly get me out of clinic duty don't you think? Oh come on. It's just a joke. Stop making that face. _Fine_. I don't want to get shot ever again. You gonna sit in that chair all day or what?" I can't. I'm not getting into a hospital bed with him. As long as I sit here, then none of this is real. The minute I get closer . . .

"There's hardly enough room for one person in that thing. Besides I--," I think he knows I'm not really mad at him but still . . ."Look I don't know how much more of this I can take. Are you even listening to me?"

Naturally he's asleep. I stay in that chair longer than I should watch him sleep and trying not to cry again. Of all the things I ever imagined seeing happen to him. This—this can't be happening. How could something like this happen? This is too much. I can't do this anymore. It's got to be less painful not to care at all. Maybe I'll ask House how to do that. I just wish I could actually do it. I guess that's the problem with loving somebody. It always hurts. House doesn't sleep well and I'm talking about in normal situation. Right now he sleeps even less well. I watch, as he starts awake.

"What time is it? Oomph! I thought you were coming over here? Do I smell that bad? Really you can tell me," he smirks.

"I told you I'm not climbing into your hospital bed next to you. It's too small for two people."

"What are you getting mad at me for? It's not like I shot myself. I know I've done some stupid things but I wouldn't do that. And if I did I wouldn't do it in a hospital." I'm not sure I could explain it even if I wanted to.

"I'm tired of you being the same ass all the time. I'm tired of you not caring about anyone."

"You're doing it again. And I don't think you really care how much I think about other people. You want me to care about you."

"I love you and yes I want to see some of that come back. I want you to care about me. Is that really so bad?"

"I told you that I loved you, a couple of times and I meant it too. What more do you want from me?" He yawns again. "Hey who would of thought getting shot hurts this much? Okay that didn't sound as funny as I thought it would." I ignore the joke, blaming it on the Morphine.

"I want you to treat me with some common decency. I want you to do something nice for me just to be nice."

"You don't don that for me. Well you don't you don't do it a lot. I—oh come on James give me a break. I'm exhausted. There's nothing I can do tonight."

"Fine. Look I'm gonna go back to your place and get a few things and then I . . ." He reaches out to grab my arm before I can leave.

"Don't go. Please. I want you to stay here. Okay? And look in the pocket of my jacket. Where is my jacket? My—." I hold my finger over his mouth trying to calm him, and go and get his jacket.

"What did you put a pin in there or something?" He just smiles but wont say anything. I touch his pocket carefully. There's definitely something in there. Inside is a box one of those little puzzle boxes. The kind if you pull all the pieces in the correct order it opens up and you solved the puzzle. "Is this a gift or are you just bored?" That same old smile. I sit back down on the chair by his bed fumbling with the boxes. He laughs a little at my struggle as if it were hilarious. "Shut up or I'll cut off your morphine supply permanently." Now that he does find funny. Greg reaches out and brushes his hand against my weakly.

"Sorry," he says and when I look in his eyes I can tell that he means it. I can't stand to see him like this. House in a hospital bed, in a gown, with an IV, his skin all pale and clammy.

"I never want to see you like this again. Promise me."

"Promise what? Look. We talked about this before. Last time. I wasn't I didn't expect you to see that. I thought it would just . . .you know." His voice trails off. "I don't want to die. Don't give me that look. You're a real pain in the neck you know that don't you? All right, all right. I promise I wont try and—I wont try it again."

"I want to apologize," I say quietly as a panel on the puzzle slides open. "This thing is an even bigger pain than you."

"That's your idea of an apology? Give me that." He takes the box from me, fumbling less, just looking at it but still not opening it right away.

"No. I haven't exactly been a good friend lately. Actually, I've been a complete and total jerk."

"You can say that again. What are you doing? I thought we decide not to have any more of these chick "feelings" conversations any more. Besides we're both jerks. That's the only reason you put up with me." The second piece of the box slips off.

"I love you and you're not a—okay you are a jerk but I—I'm not sure how to say this. I just want us to be. I just . . . Give me the box." Greg refuses to let go, keeps plugging away. I can see that there are only two more steps left on the puzzle. That's just how he works, even on drugs, even on more drugs than he's used to. I know that if I take the box away from him, even if I figure it out, it would be a loss.

"Look we can't figure everything out here and now. I just got shot. I shouldn't have to deal with this shit too. We're fine James, and if we're not we will be. You want everything to be perfect. You think that everything fits into neat little . . ."

"Boxes? You are the king of wanting everything to fit into neat little boxes."

"Patients are different. That's work. This is supposed to be fun, you and me. You're coming off a bad break up doesn't mean things wont work out for us. Okay?" The third puzzle piece pops off. "You finish it. I'm too tried." He hands me the box again, yawning. I touch his face and watch him try and blink back sleep. "I love you. I mean that."

"Just try and get some rest, okay?" I gently smooth the hair away from his face. He stares at me through the haze. "Alright, but just so you know those beds aren't designed for two people."

"You say that like I haven't spent more time in them than you have. A lot more time." I climb into the bed and pull Greg's head to my chest. I kiss him. He kisses back. Lips part, mouths open, tongues touching, massaging, but he's so tired. I can feel him falling sleep against his will. We cant do anything more and he knows it. He pulls back a little yawning again.

"Get some sleep, House. You need to sleep. Please. You look like death." I touch his chin, looking directly into his eyes. "I'll finish the puzzle for you. I promise." His voice is soft, scratchy. He's just so fucking tired but he wont sleep, not until it's solved. "I love you. Everything is going to be okay. You can open the box yourself in the morning if it has to be you if you have to see it but go_ to sleep. _ We never have this problem at home."

"I need a beer. That always helps. Nice and cool. Yeah that sounds nice right about now." House turns and looks at me exhausted.

"Funny, but no. Not until you come home. Maybe when you're off the morphine but not now." He nods "You okay. I could get the nurse or if you need something I can get it myself." I babble on and on. That's what I do when I'm nervous. That's what I do when I worry about him.

"Don't go. I'll be fine. But I need you to stay here. I'm sorry too. For everything. For the—. I'm sorry you found me like that. I'm sorry for what I did, to myself. And I will never do it again. I love you," he says with one last yawn. I don't know why, but as he talks I fiddle with the damn box and as he says those last words the final piece slips into place and the box slides open. Greg smiles.

"Would you look at that," I laugh. I turn to tell Greg that I love him again, but he's fast asleep. "Good night." I kiss him, close my eyes and the next thing I know it's morning. The sun is coming through the blinds just a little. My whole body aches from being cramped in this tiny bed but I can't think of a time when I've been happier.


End file.
